


Healing

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Hypothermia, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin tries to fix a mistake</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

They've done all they can, and Merlin will be all right with endless cups of hot broth and warm blankets and some bandages on his frostnipped fingers. Merlin will certainly live. It's Arthur who plunged through the ice, Arthur who was carried away by the river, who languished on the snowy banks in sodden clothes for too long, much too long.

Nobody questioned how Merlin was able to find him, and now they've done all they can and Uther's ordered everyone out, taken in one of his moods again. "We shall not postpone his dead by watching for it," the king says, and drags Morgana away, and Gaius shrugs, and then it's just Merlin, who wasn't enough this time, wasn't nearly enough.

That doesn't mean he can't make it right, though.

When the door is closed and the halls are silent and he's certain nobody's coming back for one last look, Merlin shimmies out of his blankets and peels off his still-damp clothes. They built the fire up ungodly hot, so he's comfortable in just his skin; he wills it up even hotter, until he brings himself out in a sweat.

Arthur is cold and white under his own mountain of blankets, and Merlin slithers in beside him, kicking away the useless warming pans and pressing himself up against acres of cool bare skin. Gaius had been in such a rush to get him bundled up there had been no time to dress Arthur in so much as a nightshirt; good fortune, Merlin thinks, because he's not exactly sure what he's doing and he doesn't want to set anything on fire in the process.

Arthur doesn't react to Merlin basically wrapping himself around him and partway on top of him. His breath is shallow and slow and there's patches of frostbite on his cheeks and nose, his ears and the point of his jaw--Gaius salved them with something, which Merlin now wipes away (and vanishes as if it never was) so he can kiss the bare, blistered skin underneath.

As he does it, he thinks--or more like wills, because he can't put it in words--he wants to make things right. He'll do anything to fix this, and he pours all that love and guilt and fear out through his lips and tongue, feathering the damage with gentle pecks and licks.

When he pulls back, the frostbite has healed to a delicate, irritated pink. He thinks maybe Arthur is incrementally warmer, too.

He pulls up Arthur's hands and gives them the same treatment, sucking in the fingers and nuzzling the palms and knuckles until they're healing if not exactly whole. Then the feet, even though it involves burrowing blindly down under the blankets to find them--Merlin's going to do this properly. He owes that much to Arthur.

When that's done, he wriggles back upright and lays his head on Arthur's chest, listening to the slow, weak beating of his heart. If he understood correct all that Gaius said, this is going to be the hard part.

He closes his eyes and lets his magic sink into Arthur's skin, warming him--but slowly, very slowly, in little rippling waves. Too fast and it'll shock him to death; it's murder on Merlin's nerves to keep the pace down, but he's already fouled up once today and it nearly cost him Arthur, cost him everything. He rubs Arthur's chest and shoulders, slides their legs together, presses his lips to Arthur's neck to feel the fluttering pulse.

It seems to take forever before he's certain that Arthur is really starting to warm. Forever and a half before Arthur starts to move, barely awake, squirming restlessly without any obvious intent. "Shhh," Merlin says, and again, and again, and eventually Arthur lets himself be soothed. He doesn't open his eyes more than a white sliver, but he grabs weakly for Merlin's arms, curling into his body, into the warmth, blindly trusting. Merlin pets his hair and tugs up the blankets, cocooning them; he's already uncomfortably sweaty, but Arthur needs the heat, and Merlin needs Arthur just like this, breathing softly in his arms.


End file.
